Putin’s War on Pillows

The Moscow International Open Book Festival is an annual event in which writers, poets, translators, graphic designers, and publishers meet with readers in tents outside a large exposition hall. There are also dance and music performances and workshops. Cookbook authors offer freshly prepared food. There is a children’s book program and there are plays. This year, two puppet productions caught the attention of the government. One, “Herbivores,” had been described by a critic as “a kind of fairytale on steroids.” The other, a children’s show called “The Soul of a Pillow,” is set in a nursery school, and the characters are children’s pillows. There’s one that is different—filled with buckwheat hulls instead of down and feathers. It has a hole in it, and is afraid that it will be discarded as garbage, but it is eventually befriended by a boy, also a loner.

On June 9th, two days before opening, the festival received a letter on the official stationery of Vladimir Aristarkhov, the First Deputy Minister of Culture. “According to available information, in the play ‘The Soul of a Pillow’ one may discern elements of propaganda of homosexuality among minors,” he wrote. “The play ‘Herbivores’ has foul language. The content of both plays is in conflict with traditional moral values accepted in the Russian culture.” The letter warned, “In the event that these items are kept in the program, the Ministry of Culture will withdraw its consent to feature as an official patron.”

Given the absurdity of the reprimand, the government’s threat to withdraw its patronage may seem laughable, but, as Vladimir Putin’s regime has stepped up constraints on self-expression, Russians are reacting by and large with submission, not resistance. The festival’s organizers were no exception. They agreed to remove the productions from the program.

This month marks the first anniversary of the infamous anti-gay bill, which I have written about before. It bans “propaganda of nontraditional sexual relations” among minors—part of the Kremlin’s general shift toward social conservatism. Since Putin has repeatedly emphasized Russia’s “traditional values” as a safeguard against the immoral and decadent West, scores of aggressive loyalists have rushed to vilify and condemn unpatriotic Russians who share Western values or who are just too modern and independent-minded, whether in art, culture, or politics. Kirill Serebrennikov, an innovative Moscow theatre director, says he has been barred from guest tours in the provinces. A primary-school math textbook was pronounced unfit, because it mentions characters from Western fairy tales. Local administrators have come up with suggestions (so far mostly declined) for determining which books should be removed from libraries. A member of the Public Chamber, a government-organized civic assembly, called for the use of a single, approved schoolbook of Russian literature, so that children won’t be exposed to unwanted ideas. Russia’s brilliant art critic Grigory Revzin was recalled from his position as curator of the Russian pavilion at the Venice Biennale, and a prominent historian, Andrey Zubov, was fired from his university—in both cases for criticizing the annexation of Crimea.

This week, as news of the Culture Ministry’s “Pillow” ultimatum spread, a large group of the festival’s participants, in a rare instance of solidarity, resisted. “We are saddened to announce that we are cancelling our presentations,” a respected publishing house, Novoe Literaturnoe Obozrenie (“New Literary Review”), said in a statement. “We can’t afford not to react to the Ministry of Culture’s attempts … to establish censorship and decide what is in conformity with ‘Russia’s traditional moral values.’ ” Memorial, an organization that has been engaged in human rights, historical research, and education for many years, also condemned the Ministry’s letter. A children’s-book publisher, KompasGid, stated, “Unfortunately, the government’s attempts to regulate cultural life are no longer a surprise,” and added, “But this doesn’t make them any less absurd or outrageous.”

Several other publishers, along with authors and cultural figures, have refused to participate in the event, as well. Many said they would move their events to alternative venues. The Open Book Festival has become a festival of civic disobedience.

The festival opened on Wednesday, as scheduled, but a notice appeared on its Web site: “ATTENTION! Dear guests of the festival! For reasons beyond our control, changes have been made in the festival’s program. Please, be careful and check the program on the Web site.” Those who refused to participate held their events in a large downtown café, in Memorial’s own offices, or at the Andrei Sakharov Center.

Alternative venues may still be found in Moscow, but, as Putin’s government clamps down on freedom of expression, the public realm—in art and culture, civic organizations, and nongovernment media—is shrinking by the day. The trend will almost certainly continue, and calls to mind many earlier periods of repression in Russian and Soviet history. “The aggressive, hard, dense cultural and psychological environment that has emerged is forcing people of a certain state of mind to raise their hands and admit: I can’t bear it anymore,” Alexander Gorbachev, the thirty-year-old editor of Afisha, Russia’s best arts and culture magazine, said in an interview. He has quit his job and is about to leave the country.

Photograph: Davide Monteleone/VII

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